


Until Graduation, Maybe

by orphan_account



Category: The Incredibles (2004)
Genre: Bisexual Character, College, Community: femslash_today, F/F, F/M, Female Characters, Female Protagonist, Ficlet, POV Female Character, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Porn Battle, Sexual Experimentation, Superheroes, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-18
Updated: 2009-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 04:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Femslash-Today's 'Summer Lightning' porn-battle. Alternate title considered: 'LOL OMG LUG'. Rejected because I actually detest the term "lug".</p>
    </blockquote>





	Until Graduation, Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Femslash-Today's 'Summer Lightning' porn-battle. Alternate title considered: 'LOL OMG LUG'. Rejected because I actually detest the term "lug".

'And, oh my god! What an ego! Do you know he had like three girls hanging on his arm this morning?' Helen's movements were sharp and angry as she tore the comb through her hair.

'Jocks are like that,' said her roommate. 'I like a more cerebral kind of fellow. There's real power in smarts.'

'Yes, exactly, me too,' huffed Helen, reaching for the hairspray, her eyes glued to the mirror. Mirage, as she called herself in her head, had done since she was ten, watched her movements, admired the curve of her buttock as she rested on one leg. Mmm. Fellows were one thing, but there was something to be said for the ladies too. She sighed. The world was such a mixed pot of temptations.

-

It was the day of the college football finals, and Helen and Mirage was squeezed in at a far end of a box. 'I hate this,' Helen complained. 'Why did we come? Just to see that clumsy oaf break bones and get us disqualified again?'

'We came to support our team, of course. Hip, hip.' Mirage leaned back against the bench and lit up, her slender fingers cupping the cigarette.

'Hurrah?' Helen smiled wryly. 

'Give me an S.'

'Give me a U.'

'Give me a let's get the fuck out of here before I throw up.'

Helen paused, fingers tightening on the railing, eyes wandering reluctantly to the field. 'I don't know. I mean, since we're here...'

'C'mon. You could show me that trick you do with the extended hand punch.'

-

The target shattered with a resounding crash. 

'Dammit!' Helen cried just as Mirage whooped and applauded. The training hall was empty except for them. Everybody was watching the game. 

'I didn't mean to break it,' Helen said. 'Shit. Does anyone know we were here?' 

As if on cue, there were familiar rolling footsteps in the hall. Helen whirled around. 'It's the coach!'

'Come on,' Mirage said, gesturing towards and open window. 

'We're on the third floor!'

'Remember the peppermint-stripe panty adventure?'

'But what about you?'

Mirage wrapped her thin arms around Helen, pressing up close, surprisingly soft for all her hard angles. Her breath was warm and tickled Helen's neck as she murmured, 'I guess you'll just have to hold me.'

The steps stopped outside the door. Helen's arm fastened around Mirage and in a few bounds she was out the window, her fingers grasping the sill at the last second. They fell, then slowed, then were lowered safely on the ground. Helen let go of the sill and they bolted.

'That was fantastic,' said Mirage, laughing softly through her caught breath as they stopped in their own dorm room.

'That was terrible,' Helen contradicted her. 'I have to put in more hours practicing, and on something less expensive!'

'Mmm.' Mirage slinked closer. 'You look all sweaty. Let me take that sweater off you.'

Helen extended her arms obediently and Mirage tucked the lettered sweater off. 'I'm going to have to do more than run away from gym teachers if I'm going to be a hero.'

'Mm-hmm,' Mirage agreed, running her hand down along Helen's back, then up her shirt and along sweat-beaded skin. 

Helen shuddered. 'What--'

'Shh,' said Mirage and kissed her shoulder. Helen twitched, and turned her head, her eyes shadowed.

'Look...'

'I know,' whispered Mirage. 'Allegiance to your team, and all. I like to think it's more about the sport...' Her fingers teased their way around and up Helen's belly, and she was delighted to feel the other young woman shudder. It wasn't the bad kind of shudder – she knew, because Helen wasn't drawing away. '...More about the sport than the team,' she finished. 

Mirage's fingers drew lazy circles on Helen's skin, her lips brushed the nape of Helen's neck. Helen gasped. 'Elastigirl...?' Mirage whispered. 

'I've noticed you looking,' Helen said, uncertainly, her voice hitching. 'I wasn't going to... say anything.'

Mirage kissed her jaw, just below the ear.

'Nobody will know, will they?' Helen whispered, turning to her, her hesitation delicious. 

'Nobody,' said Mirage, and claimed her mouth. 

So soft, so sweet. 

They struggled out of their clothes, Helen's shirt and trousers scattered on the floor on their way to bed, which squeaked as they fell on it. Mirage rolled Helen on her back and made sure to kiss her well, well enough to drive away thoughts of Bob Parr, which she knew were there despite all of Helen's protestations; well enough to make her forget everything except the sweet urgency, to make her gasp and bend and beg. 

And she did. Mmm. Helen was wet and dripping when Mirage got to the part where she could find this out.

There was nothing elastic in Helen's muscles, at the thrust of her thighs as she ground against Mirage's hand; nothing hesitant about her demands, hissed through gritted teeth, for more, faster, now... 

-

...Such play. Such hours. 

Mirage smiled dreamily, moving her starburst mouse over the image of Helen Parr in her suburbian housewifey apron, across her cheek, like a caress. 

She'd always known their college fling had been a stopover at best. It hadn't really been in Elastigirl to bat for both teams for any long period of time. This had been her dream – a little house and three kids with a hero-man with bulging muscles. 

Mirage bet, though, that when Helen made love to her husband, she didn't grasp his hair and whisper such a barrage of profanities in his ear; didn't shove her hand inside him so deep they almost melted together. What sighs, what motions, what hot grinding pleasures could they have that matched what she and Mirage had had together?

_Enough of memory lane_, Mirage thought as she snapped the laptop shut. The game was on.


End file.
